


Ghosts

by Leximuth



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cyclonus is there too, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, mental break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leximuth/pseuds/Leximuth
Summary: Look this isn't gonna make sense no matter how I attempt to explain but what if Whirl didn't catch the cameras in time and Roles were Reversed. And then universes fused. And Whirl isn't okay.
Comments: 25
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/gifts).
  * Inspired by [You know he dies at the end, right?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084603) by [Polyhexian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyhexian/pseuds/Polyhexian). 



"You okay?"

"Nah." Whirl tilts his helm down, focusing on Tailgate's purple-shadowed ghost as much as he focuses on anything these days. The answer is honest; there's no point in lying to the dead. Whirl's got a can of phos in his claw so it must be that time, whatever that time is, the time when he slips a little data slug of hopes and dreams into the trash where it belongs. Tailgate, legs, little guy, brave soul. Little white hands curling around his empty claw, tugging gently until he figures out it means 'follow' just as surely as Four's turned back does. 

"Bad day," legs tells the shadow, and don't they make a sad little procession down the hall. Ghosts and ghosts and more ghosts. He hums softly to himself, since Four isn't there, a bright lilting tune turned dirge because his vocalizer only makes three notes. It's funny. The new one, a Cyclonus, whatever that is, hums with him. It's... nice. Something like nice. Little white hand curled around his and a voice carrying the tune Whirl can't. 

The hallway isn't right, isn't the Cog, isn't the end of the line where Whirl will die, but none of this is right. It isn't right that they walk into a room and Whirl is already in it, it isn't right that Tailgate is here, it isn't right that Whirl is the one who gets to live.

He thinks he said that part out loud.

They know better than to look at him, these ghosts, they know that Tailgate is the only one who can touch him. He knows enough now too, enough to have His Corner where he goes with Tailgate, pulls the little disposal into his arms and curls around him, staring down Cyclonus and Whirl and Orion and anyone else who fades in or out or sideways.

"I hate this," Whirl says, and he doesn't know which of them said it.


	2. Chapter 2

"He's doing better," Tailgate says, and Cyclonus and Whirl both look over at the other Whirl. He is not doing better. He's been standing in that one spot for two goddamn hours making a soft, unending hissing noise that Whirl suspects is an attempt at speech which has been stretched out by a critical timing glitch. 

The other Whirl is Not Okay.

"He is," Cyclonus says, because Cyclonus is a filthy liar. Tailgate looks relieved at the backup. Whirl vengefully smashes the buttons on his controller a little harder. Not too hard, they get stuck to his claws and he has to get Tailgate to pry them off and it's embarrassing, but hard enough that he can be mad about it. Cyclonus catches Tailgate as he tries to go interrupt whatever the other Whirl isn't managing to do. "Let him process it in his own time."

Cyclonus gets a lapful of huffing Tailgate for that, little feet kicking up to tuck against Whirl's side. The couch isn't that big. Tailgate's feet always tuck right into Whirl's hip, right there, just so. Whirl wants to be mad about it. The couch, the feet, whatever. His little character dies.

"Frag this," Whirl spits. He's up before he can stop himself, throwing himself across the room and into the other Whirl's not-face. "Look at this! No one's home. There's nothing in there." He knocks a claw against the unflinching eye, ignoring Tailgate's noise of protest. "This is not better. He doesn't even know if I'm real or not. He's not processing anything, at any speed, because there is _nothing going on in there._ "

Then the Whirl that isn't Whirl looks back, a tiny shift of the optic, lenses focusing, actually LOOKING at Whirl for once, making a liar of him - and empuratees aren't supposed to be able to emote but Whirl can see the stifling grief where there used to be rage in the tiny tremble of servos and the empty hiss of a vocalizer turned down so far the scream is smaller than a wheeze, and it's just - too much -

By the time Cyclonus hauls them off each other they've each lost a limb and Whirl's pretty sure the other arm's gonna need to be disassembled too. He's still mad but it's a better mad. At least this empty thing can fight back. At least it's that much of him.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Tailgate," the other Whirl mumbles.

"It's okay," Tailgate tells him, voice trembling, but they all know it wasn't said to him.


End file.
